Iron Fist Season 2: War of the Seven Weapons
by HarmonicaJay
Summary: Danny Rand has defeated the Hand and has taken the reins of protecting the city of New York from the scum of the Earth. However, the past of K'un L'un has once again come back to haunt him. Seven Masters from the Seven Cities have come to New York to fill the void the Hand left lead by a dangerous man. Danny must face K'un L'un's past if he is going to remain the Iron Fist.
1. Chapter 1: Clothes make the Man

Iron Fist: Season 2

War of the Seven Weapons

Chapter 1

Clothes make the Man

Danny Rand was a man of two lives. One was spent in the offices of Rand Enterprises where he made decisions that affected the lives of his employees and his company while the other was spent on the streets in a green and yellow tracksuit fighting criminals with a glowing fist. The Iron Fist. Both lives had been complicated and hard-won for Danny.

Standing in front of his studio apartment door, he rested his head against it, leaving a streak of sweat as he removed it. Opening the door, he undid his tracksuit top and tossed it on his lounge chair. 3 AM in the morning and the shadows of the New York City lights were stretching across the room, forming shapes out of the shadows of his furniture and the racks of weapons he kept on the walls. He surveyed the physical contrast to his status as head of a multibillion-dollar company. Most expected him to live in a penthouse apartment with marble columns, champagne fountains, and a butler or two. Danny didn't believe in life like that. It wasn't what he was used to. He may own a company, but he liked living how he used to back at the temple. How he had been raised. No excess, only necessity.

He entered the bathroom, the lights revealing the numerous scars across his body and he got to work patching himself up. The souvenirs of his nighttime excursions to protect the city from the criminal underworld that had been left behind in the wake of the defeat of the Hand. Cuts, bruises, all were there. However, none of the scars were as striking as the tattoo on his chest. The mark of the dragon Shou-Lao. The symbol of the Iron Fist.

When he had been a child at the age of 9, his father's best friend and business partner, Harold Meachum, had betrayed the Rand Family, sabotaging the family's private jet and causing it to crash in the Himalayas. Both Wendell Rand and his wife Heather were killed in the crash with Danny barely surviving. Found and raised by the monks of the mystical city of K'un L'un, Danny was trained in the various forms of Kung Fu for one purpose: To become the Immortal Iron Fist. The Living Weapon. The protector of K'un L'un and the sworn enemy of the Hand.

In truth, the Hand had been responsible for everything that had gone wrong in his life. If it wasn't for the Hand working with Harold Meachum, his parents wouldn't be dead. His childhood love, Joy, Harold's daughter, wouldn't hate him for the part he played in Harold's death and he wouldn't... he wouldn't have met Colleen.

Shutting off the light, he entered his bedroom to find her, Colleen Wing, lying in bed. She wore a grey tank top and matching pajama pants while laying in possibly the most disjointed position he'd ever seen. The bedsheets were tangled around her, a couple strands of her long black hair stuck in her mouth, and one leg was hanging off the side. He'd have laughed if it wouldn't wake her up. Instead, he leaned over to kiss her on the forehead, hefted her leg back up on the bed, and removed the hairs from her mouth.

Colleen gave a contented sigh as Danny helped himself to bed and wrapped his arms around her. Kissing her on the back of her neck, he thought back to the day they had met. Colleen and he hadn't gotten off on the right foot at first. His being raised in K'un L'un had made him very alien to the residents of the outside world and had also made him very arrogant as a result. The way he'd talked to Colleen and her students like he knew everything? Arrogant. The way he'd stepped in her dojo to "discipline" her students like he'd been by his sifu, Lei Kung the Thunderer? Arrogant. He'd even expected to just have his company handed back to him. Like everyone would have just been waiting for him to return with a parade and the key to his dad's office. Instead, he'd been accused of being a fraud by people he'd known since childhood and had to live in the park like a hobo.

Colleen had been the first person to truly call him out on his crap. She'd also become his first real ally in his quest to find the truth of what had happened to his parents. Then it was revealed that Colleen's dojo was nothing more than training future warriors for the Hand and Colleen was a believer in the Hand as a force for good. It had taken some doing, but Danny had finally convinced her that the Hand was wrong. Together, along with some new friends of Danny's, they had taken down the Hand. They had won. All at the cost of one man. A hero named Matt.

"Did you make them cry," Colleen whispered.

"Like they were 3 years old again," Danny whispered back.

"Any cuts?"

"A couple. Nothing too deep that needs to be stitched up. Applied the usual first aid."

"They didn't see your face, right?" Colleen was definitely awake this time if she was asking that question. She turned around in bed and looked him in the eye. "You have to protect your identity. The Hand may have known who you were, but the rest of New York shouldn't have to know how a boy billionaire goes out at night. You need a mask and you need some armor."

Danny went for his go-to move that was sure to disarm every foe out there. He gave her a peck on the nose. "Luke doesn't wear armor and he doesn't wear a mask."

Colleen gave him a glare. "Don't think a kiss will stop me, Richie Rich. You are not Luke. You are not bulletproof. You are mortal. You can die. The Hand killed many Iron Fists over the centuries and they had tons more experience than you. They had more skill than you do. They killed Bei Ming-Tian and that guy stopped the Mongol Hoard single-handed."

Danny felt a little offended. "Wait, are you saying I'm weak? I beat the Hand."

Colleen shook off his hug and sat up. "Danny, I'm not saying that. I'm saying that you only beat the Hand because you had me, Luke, Jessica, and Matt." She didn't waver when she said his name. She was serious. "The Hand always won because the Iron Fist was one Living Weapon against an army of Living Weapons. You had backup this time. What if someone else worse than the Hand comes along and puts you in the ground. You need help. You need to armor yourself."

Danny sat up and looked into her eyes that were starting to brim with tears. Colleen wasn't just Whistling Dixie. She was scared for him. She wanted him protected. It's why he loved her. He sighed. "Okay. I promise. I will look up armor to protect myself. I promise you." He leaned over to give her a soft kiss on the nose and then on the lips. "I will find a way to come home with only bruises."

Colleen smiled and hugged him around the neck. "That's all I ask for, Mr. Rand." The two lovers slowly drifted back to the pillows. Any plans of lovemaking were quashed as silent snores were heard from the mouth of the exhausted Immortal Iron Fist.

* * *

Melvin Potter wasn't stupid. That's what Betsy had told him. Nor was he a bad man like he'd used to be. He just got confused sometimes and when he got confused he did bad things. That's why Betsy was there for him. She was nice. She gave him medication that helped him when he got angry. He liked Betsy. She made him feel good in his heart. She'd told him that all she needed to be was his therapist, but Melvin wanted Betsy to be more. He'd thought about doing what his dad had done for his mom, getting on one knee and proposing. But if Betsy didn't want that, then she could just be his friend. He was fine with that. He liked her and didn't want her hurt.

Melvin had worked for bad men once like Wilson Fisk, making special armor for them that could stop bullets and knives. Mr. Fisk had threatened to hurt Betsy if he didn't help him make that armor. Betsy hadn't wanted him to do bad things like that, but he hadn't wanted Betsy getting hurt. Then the Devil came to him. Daredevil is what the papers had called him. The Devil of Hell's Kitchen had come to him to make a special suit that he could use to stop Fisk and keep Betsy safe. And he'd kept his promise. Betsy was safe and Mr. Fisk was gone. And so was Daredevil if the rumors were to be believed.

He was working hard to make sure that his tailor business was legitimate. No selling to bad people like Fisk. He would sell to good guys like Daredevil and his friends. He was opening up the warehouse where he did his work when he heard a voice behind him. "Melvin Potter?" He turned around to see a man with short blonde hair that was slightly curly. He'd seen his picture in the paper before. Danny Rand, head of Rand Enterprises was standing in front of him in a green and yellow tracksuit with a smile on his face.

"I'm Danny Rand and I was referred to you by a friend of a friend who you made armor for. I was hoping you could help me make something like his."

Melvin led him into the workshop where all his suits were hung with care. He still had a few of Fisk's suits left. He could use the material, but it was a reminder to him never to help bad guys again. Now here was a billionaire who wanted his help. "You a friend of Daredevil's, right? Not bad guys like Mr. Fisk?"

Danny shook his head. "No. I'm a friend of Daredevil. I understand you made armor for him?"

Melvin nodded, rubbing at his hairless head. "Yeah. He was nice to me. We fought at first, but then he promised to stop Fisk to save Betsy. Made him that armor." He stopped in front of his workbench. "Is... is it true he's gone," he asked without looking up.

"Gone, but not confirmed dead. I'm looking as best I can, Melvin. But I need new clothes. I need something to protect me. And I think you can help me."

Melvin nodded. Any friend of Daredevil was a friend of his. He picked up his tape measurer and turned around to face Danny. "Take the jacket off? I need to get a good measurement." Danny nodded and complied, leaving himself in his white tank top and green pants. As Melvin measured Danny, he explained what he was going to be doing. "You're a quick fighter so what I'm going to be making is going to sacrifice protection so you don't lose speed. It won't stop a bullet, but it will deflect a knife attack."

Danny chuckled. "Can you make it strong enough to deflect a sword blow? And what if the guy is a literal heavy hitter? Like a fist fighter?"

Melvin nodded. "Well, then you'll have to cut down on speed for that. How strong are you talking?"

"Like... what if someone half as strong as Luke Cage hit me?"

Melvin thought about that. "I'll have to get back to you on that, but I can compensate for bladed weapons. I'll need to test it, but... I think I can get it to you."

He finished his measurements, wrote them down, and stood up. "I'll need your number for when I can get back to you with the price and everything else. That okay?" Danny smiled and held his hand out for Melvin's notepad which he gave. He wrote the number down and handed it back to Melvin.

"Call me when you think you got it down. Any price you think is enough, write it down, I'll match it. Thanks, Melvin," he said with a warm smile. "From the bottom of my heart. Thanks."

He picked up his jacket and headed for the door. He stopped and turned around to Melvin. "Look. Daredevil made me promise to take care of the city before he... disappeared. Your armor could really help me do that. Oh, and... Yellow and green with a mask. Something like a bandana. Thanks."

Melvin smiled as he left. He had to tell Betsy the good news. He had made a new customer. A good one. And maybe even a new friend.

* * *

Mr. Tsang stood outside JFK with a sign that read "Zheng Zu". He'd been waiting since 8 in the morning. The flight had been scheduled for noon. He was not going to be late. Not for this man. Any other man would be worthy of half an hour early, but the man he was waiting for was worth it. A man of honor and distinction. A great leader that was readying to establish a foothold in New York. To fill the void that had been left by the Hand's defeat. Zheng Zu.

The door's opened to allow a crowd of people out. Tourists all. None worth his time. He kept his eyes peeled for him. The man he worked for. Zheng Zu, the head of the Seven Weapons. Then he saw him in the middle of the crowd.

He was tall. Six feet five inches tall in a blue tailored suit. His head was completely bald. Not a hair on top of it except for his lips. His mustache was perfectly trimmed, long enough to reach his chin. He carried an overnight bag with a porter carrying a larger suitcase on wheels. The most striking features about him though were his eyes. Steel grey with flecks of gold in them. No signs of emotion were betrayed. He was in complete control of himself.

Mr. Tsang held up the sign for Zheng Zu to see. Zheng nodded in his direction and motioned for the porter to follow. He stopped in front of Mr. Tsang, staring down at him, not speaking a word. Mr. Tsang bowed to Zheng Zu. "Master, it is an honor to have you here in New York. Please let me take your luggage." He held out his hands, still bowing, to take the suitcase. Zheng didn't move. Finally, he spoke.

"Do my arms look like they are brittle and broken?"

Mr. Tsang shook his head. "No, Master."

"I can take care of my own luggage. I am old, not helpless." He moved to the trunk, Mr. Tsang opening it, and placed his suitcase in, with the Porter following suit, with Zheng Zu tipping him personally. Generosity was one of Zheng's many qualities as a leader. He rewarded those that followed him and punished those that betrayed him. Mr. Tsang opened the back of the car for Zheng, bowing as he did. He closed up and took up the driver's seat.

"It is good to have you here, Master. Your timing is perfect."

"The Hand's defeat was inevitable. Alexandra was sloppy in her old age. She was old and it was time for her to go. Same with Bokuto, Murakami, and Sowande."

"And Madame Gao, Master," Mr. Tsang asked.

Zheng's eyes closed as he considered his words. "Madame Gao was a well of information. She served the Seven well as our connection to the Hand's activities." He paused. "Has she been found?"

Mr. Tsang nodded. "She has, Master. Two nights ago. The Iron Fist was close to her location. Luckily, he wasn't looking for her. Ran into a cocaine ring."

"One of ours?"

"No, Master. Someone else's. Nothing to be concerned about. Madame Gao is safe and healing. She's a strong woman, Master."

"Of course she is. She's the Crane Mother. She's one of us. A Master. When she's strong enough to meet, let me know."

"I will, Master. I promise you."

"Good. Bring me to my hotel. I am tired. It's been a long plane ride."

"At once, Master."

At the hotel, Zheng tipped the bellboys, placed the "Do Not Disturb" sign on the doorknob and faced the window of his penthouse suite. New York City. Manhattan. One of the most diverse cities in the United States of America. He'd only been here twice. Once to find his child and the second to meet the Seven Weapons and to explain the plan. He'd never been here to explore it. Never as a tourist. Never had the time to see the sights like the Empire State Building, the Brooklyn Bridge, or even Chinatown. He had work to do. But he had time to wait. The Weapons would be here when it was time. He had time to see New York City. Time. That was all he needed. He would look up this new Iron Fist. Test his Mettle. He smiled. Maybe... Maybe his son would be here as well. He wanted to catch up with Shang.


	2. Chapter 2: Nighttime Jogging

Chapter 2

Nighttime Jogging

It was a hobby Danny had picked up in K'un L'un when he couldn't sleep at night. Jogging around the temple to clear his head of the memories of his mother and father. It didn't help, but it was something. Now New York was his temple. It was his New K'un L'un to protect from the scum and villainy that would turn it into something evil. A cesspool of evil. He smiled to himself as he envisioned himself as a tough as nails vigilante. Gritting his teeth, monologuing about the punks and how they had ruined his city to the point where it was irredeemable. Then he would hear the cries of a woman about to be assaulted and would grimace about how this showed the world as cruel. He would do, what was called by the internet, "The Superhero Landing" and beat the crap out of the rapist. The woman would thank him and he would growl about how "He was no hero, just a band-aid on a seeping wound." He laughed as he imagined all that because it was just so silly.

He pulled the hoodie over his head and looked over his city. Well, it wasn't his city. Months and months after arriving, New York didn't feel like home yet. Not like K'un L'un had for most of his life. Why couldn't he feel at home? Because he was watching it for a friend. It was on loan from a man who had given his life to protect it from the Hand.

Matt Murdock the Daredevil. He had been blinded as a boy, raised by his single prizefighter father, orphaned and trained by Stick of the Chaste. He'd had a rough life and superpowers hadn't made it any better. Becoming a vigilante hadn't helped his pain, but he'd done his best. Now he was gone, having given his life fighting his psychopath ex-girlfriend Elektra Natchios at the bottom of a hole. He'd made Danny promise to look after his city and Danny intended to keep that promise.

Danny stuck to the low buildings for his patrols, gauging his jumps so he wouldn't land too hard or fall too short. He could jump, but he wasn't like that Spider Guy from Queens. "I need to look him up sometime. Be fun to have another team up." One that didn't end with a death.

He'd been out for about 2 hours, waiting for the noise when it finally came. The sound of glass breaking. Either someone was smashing a six-pack of bottles or they were breaking a storefront window. He hoped it was the latter. He needed the action.

* * *

Barry and Bernie were Italian-American brothers from the Bronx. They were a duo, smash and grab. Barry did the smashing and Bernie did the grabbing. They were dirt poor growing up and did what they could to make do. They stole electronics, put them in the pickup, and sold them off at a reasonable price for those that couldn't afford it. Usually for 25 percent more than the normal asking price. And they made sure to grab from the register too. Hey, easy money was easy money. They weren't stupid enough to turn down a freebie.

The mark was a pawnshop that usually specialized in last generation TVs. Lucky for them, this one had flatscreens. That was a bonus. They could go for double the normal price. Pay-dirt was the best kind of dirt. Barry was standing on the back of the truck with Bernie handing him up the TVs to store when they heard the noise. The sound of an angry shopkeep.

Bernie swung around, drawing the pistol he kept in the back of his jeans and pointed it at the store owner. He was a balding middle-aged Korean man by the name of Joh and he was brandishing a baseball bat at the brothers.

"Listen, old man, we just want the TVs. Do you have insurance? You clean up and we get the TVs."

"I don't care about insurance," Mr. Joh yelled. "This is my business! I am not letting you punks hurt it."

Barry knew this was bad. Bernie was his loving little brother, but he was not the kind of guy that worked well under pressure. Introduce one monkey wrench into the plan and it all went to hell. All he wanted were the TVs, not to get some old guy's blood on his hands.

"Bernie," he whispered through gritted teeth. "Let's just go. We got what we need in the truck."

"Are you kidding," Bernie replied, the tension in his voice rising. "The old guy has seen us. He'll snitch on us and Ma will be ashamed of us. You want her visiting us in the joint? Do you, Barry?"

Barry looked at the old man and then to Bernie. Bernie had him by the balls. Ma was everything to them. She didn't ask questions about their second source of income outside of the Diner, but she suspected. Her approval was everything to the boys and they risked it every weekend night with this stuff. It was all for her, Bernie had said. All for her. The money went to the Diner, but they got it through entirely dishonest means that would break her heart into tiny pieces. And now they had an old man in their sights and he could end their lives as they knew them. Then it went to crap.

Mr. Joh noticed the distraction and went for it. He swung the bat at Bernie's head and let out a battle-cry. Bernie was faster though. The gun went off and the old man's body twisted in mid-stride, a bullet hole in his right shoulder. A scream was heard from the apartment upstairs. Of course, the old man had a wife and she had probably heard everything. They were screwed. Worse than screwed. They were dead in the water.

"Jesus Christ, Bernie," he yelled. "You shot the old man!"

"You saw it! He came at me first!"

"With a goddamn bat, you dumbass! You shot him!"

"Shut up, Barry! Just get in the truck and we're out of here."

Barry was about to argue the fact that they couldn't just get out of here and leave an old man to die when a thump on the hood of the truck was heard. Both brothers turned around to see a man in a green and yellow hoodie, the streetlights from behind blocking their view of his face. "Hi, I'm the Iron Fist and consider this a citizen's arrest."

* * *

Danny hadn't wanted to go whole-hog on the kids. They were barely into their twenties, the oldest looked to be 23 years old, the younger probably three years behind. He'd learned self-control when dealing with criminals in years past, not to treat them all the same way as hardened killers. These guys probably had less than they needed to get by. Stealing flatscreens was hardly a crime punishable by the Fist. Oh, he was going to stop them. Just not by means that would land them in hospital. Maybe just break the truck. Then the owner had shown up and the little brother had pulled out the gun. He prepped himself for the entrance and was about to jump when the gun went off. That was it. He gave them the chance to walk away and the younger one had squandered it.

He jumped off the roof and landed on the hood of the truck. Making sure no one could see his face thanks to the lights and the domino mask he'd gotten on loan from Melvin was in place, he spoke. "Hi, I'm the Iron Fist and consider this a citizen's arrest."

The kid with the gun, of course, shot first. Danny read the kid's movements, the direction he was pointing the gun in and guessed the trajectory of the bullet. He made the dodge just in time, as the bullet whizzed past him. The smart thing to do would be to take the gunman out first, but the older brother, Barry, he believed, was closest and was preparing to throw a punch.

This was where it got tricky for Danny. He had to time it exactly. Barry threw a right hook as Danny made the leap forward from the hood. He was in mid-air as he got the full scope of things. He was just above Barry as Bernie aimed his pistol at his head. The storefront was pretty low so he had to make sure he didn't hit his head. He twisted to the left, swinging his right leg in a flying kick that connected with Barry's head, sending him flying off the truck and onto the sidewalk. Danny landed on the back of the truck as Bernie's gun went off.

Time seemed to slow for him as his eyes began to track the path of the bullet. When Danny was truly in the zone, when his chi was flowing through him, he was the fastest thing on the battlefield. The world was underwater, its speed significantly cut down. The bullet was slowed down to the point where he could see it coming for him. It made waves in the air as it cut a path, ripples of distortion in reality. This brought a smile to Danny's face. Normally, he made sure to duck and cover when facing automatic weapons, but this was a .38 pistol. It was nothing compared to an MP5.

He didn't stop running as he ducked his head, the bullet whizzing past him, cutting through the top of the hoodie, and smashed through the glass of the truck. Making sure not to activate the Iron Fist, he delivered a swift jab to Bernie's jaw. Bernie went down, his gun flying out of his hand and clattering to the floor. Danny didn't stop moving until he was off the truck and by Mr. Joh's side.

The bullet had thankfully shot clean through the poor man's shoulder. As Danny applied pressure to both sides of the wound, he examined it more closely. There didn't seem to be any sign that the bullet had hit an artery, but he was still losing blood. He had to stabilize him.

"Sir, can you hear me?"

Joh looked up at the young man who had taken down the two hoodlums that had been robbing his store and nodded. "I'm fine. But what about-" He heard a scream that had definitely come from his wife in the back. Mrs. Joh ran to her husband's side nearly shoving Danny aside, her eyes awash with tears.

Danny knelt next to her, gave his best smile, and placed a hand on her shoulder. "Ma'am, your husband is going to be fine. I promise."

The woman turned to him, her eyes turning red. "How can you promise that?"

Danny smiled again. "Because I am the Iron Fist."

Danny placed his hands on both sides of the wound and closed his eyes. He breathed in and out. In and out. Envisioning nothing and yet everything. A void of darkness and light. A void of ignorance and clarity. Balance within himself. He envisioned a river of golden energy flowing through him, reaching all parts of him and coming from one source. His center. His soul. His heart. This river was channeled into his hands and this energy he used to heal the man.

The Iron Fist technique was a thing of balance. On the one hand, it could be used to destroy entire armies when used properly. However, it could also be used to heal. To mend that which was broken. It was a thing of beauty. Something so powerful could give life as much as it could take it. And he used it to save an old man's life.

His hands glowed bright gold, bright enough to show the bones of his hands. He applied pressure and poured all his energy into the wound, willing it closed. The old man groaned and cried as wounds began to close shut. His wife gasped and began to push Danny away, hoping to stop her husband's pain, but Danny held firm. He was not going to let this man die. Not while he had the chance to save his life. He was a hero, a protector of his people and of his city. He was the Iron Fist.

As the wound finally closed, he released the old man and lay his head gently on the ground, shushing him to sleep. His wife looked at him with awe and muttered something in Korean. "Thank you," she whispered. "Thank you so much." She wrapped her arms around Danny while whispering her thanks again and again. Danny pried her off him and smiled again. Then he heard the sirens.

"He will be fine. I have to go before the cops arrive. They don't look kindly upon vigilantes with magic hands. Just say they missed him, but he fainted from exhaustion after knocking them both on their asses." He gave her a kiss on the forehead and ran from the store, climbing up the water drain on the building across the street. Swiftly and surely, he made it to the rooftop, pausing there to look over the police arriving to survey the damage. As the night went on, he observed them taking the brothers into custody and taking the Joh's statements. They would be fine for the night. They would be safe. The defeat that the brothers faced would be known and this store and its owners would be safe. The Iron Fist had left his mark on this store.

* * *

"Though no details were expressly given, it is the opinion of this reporter that the Joh family were helped by the Iron Fist. The brothers, Barry and Bernard Rossitano, were quoted as saying that 'A green Kung Fu guy got the drop on us and sucker-punched us. If it were a fair fight, we would have kicked his ass.' Though this reporter doesn't believe the word fair covers threatening an old man with a gun and ganging up on one man, it is clear that the vigilante Iron Fist has taken it upon himself to take up the mantle of protector of New York after the disappearance of the Devil of Hell's Kitchen. One can only hope that he doesn't disappear like Daredevil did."

Colleen folded up her copy of the _New York Bulletin_ and smiled at Danny from across the dining table. "Leave it to Karen to end on a note of optimism," she said, her tone tinged with sarcasm.

Danny shrugged. "Karen's just mourning as best she can," he said after gulping down a mouthful of porridge. "At least she's giving me good press. You should see what the _Daily Bugle_ says about me. That editor seriously has it out for me."

Colleen rolled her eyes and gave a laugh, brushing a strand of her silky black hair out of her eyes. "Danny, it's the _Bugle._ They hate all vigilantes. I'd be surprised if they did like you. At least you aren't on the top of their hate list. You should see the stuff they say about Spider-Man. But you are doing well. You saved a pair of good people and you should be proud. Who cares what the _Bugle_ says?"

Danny was about to say "I do," but he stopped himself when he noticed Colleen's smile. Any fear of people not liking him for the good he did them evaporated when he saw that smile. As good a healer as he was, Colleen outranked him in every way. When she smiled, his heart filled with joy, his fears melted away and there was only her. How he had spent 15 years without her was a mystery. She was his light, shining brighter than the chi that gave him his power. He blushed to himself, realizing how cheesy that thought was, but it was true. He loved her, though he wished he had the words to express that feeling. He felt like a stupid kid in school, mulling over whether or not he should give his crush the note that asked: "Do you like me, check one."

He snapped back to reality when he noticed her staring at him. "You're right. Who cares what Jameson says about me? I've fought worse than him and I've come out on top. I've faced against Rand Enterprises lawyers and lived."

Colleen laughed and leaned across the table to give him a punch in the arm. A small voice in the back of his mind told him not to wash that arm again. He ignored it. "There you go. See, isn't that better?" She went back to her breakfast while looking over the crossword puzzle for the day. "Oh, any word from Melvin?"

Danny shook his head. "None, but you can't rush art. My biggest worry is that I won't be able to move as fast as I used to while I wear it."

"The protection it will provide will be worth it, Danny. It's for the best."

He nodded and looked up at the morning sun shining down through his studio apartment window. It would take some getting used to, but it was for the best. It would help him protect himself. Though he didn't understand why he would need it. After all, the Hand had been the biggest threat to the city and he and his friends had defeated them. If the Hand couldn't take him down, who could?

* * *

Zheng Zu was dressed in his ceremonial garb whilst he meditated in his hotel room. Light blue, trimmed with gold and topped off with a Mandarin Hat of the same color, Zheng was at his most comfortable when he wore his work clothes. To be frank, he hated wearing suits and ties. They were restrictive, stifled his movements, and made it harder for him to defend himself. What if one of his enemies came for him when he was wearing one? He could be taken down in so simple an ambush and all because he wasn't wearing the proper attire. He had to be prepared for anything and sometimes comfort was the best first step in ensuring his protection.

Though his eyes were closed, Zheng could see all in his room. Large as it was, he had memorized every detail, every sound that went with every object. If something was moved, he would know what it was. The picture of the room he had painted with his mind's eye could easily be changed if it suited him. No one could sneak up on him, not unless he allowed it.

He'd made sure to meditate away from the windows today. Though he had taken great pains to make sure only those in his organization's inner circle would know of his departure date and destination, he didn't want to chance a spy learning his plans and taking the opportunity to end his life. To end the life of his true self, his true name. He would not be overconfident. That was how the Hand had been and their long lives had been ended by four vigilantes.

He laughed to himself. Though he'd never been friends with the Hand, he had respected their efforts and their methods. Like him, the Hand were swift and cold when dealing with their enemies. Making sure to tie up all loose ends, leaving no one alive that might expose them. However, in the last year, the Hand had grown sloppy. People in law enforcement had been taking notice of them. Alexandra, if the rumors were to be believed by the spies he'd placed in the Hand's organization, had been killed by the Black Sky, the Hand's own secret weapon. The answer to the Iron Fist. Murakami had been lost at the bottom of the hole they'd made, Bokuto's charred skull was found in the remains of the Midland Circle building and Sowande had been captured and executed by the last of the Chaste.

That was their problem, he thought. They had acted like they'd only wanted anonymity, but they were boisterous and spoiled children, wanting to be noticed by the Elders of K'un L'un for their efforts so they would leave their Celestial City and face them in war. They'd deserved the deaths that had been given to them. Zheng had fought in wars before and had learned that if you were going to operate in secret, it was best that the world only knew you as a fiction. As something to be feared, but only because of the legends surrounding you.

That's why he'd chosen his true name. It was a name that inspired fear and awe in those that heard it. A name that told you everything you needed to know about its owner. It was a name that had given him control of many of the Triad families in China, including the Golden Serpent Clan and the Blue Lotus Clan. They knew him and feared him because of his reputation. A reputation he'd built and maintained for 70 years. The name of-

"Master Fu Manchu," Tsang's voice called to him, interrupting his mind's painting of the room. He sighed. Too wrapped up in his ego to notice an intruder. He'd have to rectify that. He couldn't afford to get sloppy.

"Yes, Mr. Tsang," Fu Manchu asked, his voice sharp, cutting the tension Tsang felt when entering his Master's room without permission. Tsang didn't answer. The boy was afraid of him, of course. Rightly so, but right now, Fu couldn't afford cowardice in his subordinates. He opened one eye and looked Tsang up and down. Sure enough, the boy was scared of him. His knees were knocking together and his brow was sweating. He avoided his master's look for fear of turning into a pillar of salt if he looked upon the great Fu Manchu. Tsang was a coward. A craven toady who would surely run if battle came to the organization. But Fu needed him today. He could dispense the fool later.

"Well, speak," he commanded. "Do you have anything important to tell me or have you come to waste my time that could be better spent in meditation?"

Tsang shook his head and bowed. "Apologies, Master Fu. But we just received word that Dog Brother #1 has arrived from Thailand. We've sent a car to pick him up."

Fu allowed himself a smile. Good. The second of the Seven Weapons had arrived in New York City and soon they could begin. Only four remained and they would soon come to him as well. He stood up, stretched his limbs and turned to Tsang, his expression never wavering from cold steel. "And has there been any word of Shang Chi? Has he been spotted leaving China as well?"

Tsang shook his head. "No, Master. We've kept our eyes and ears open, but none of the clans report any movement from him. As far as we know, he's still in China, looking for you."

Fu nodded, smiling inward. "Good."

Tsang's head shot up. "Good, Master?"

Fu nodded again. "I trained Shang to be the ultimate weapon. I trained him to be a true killer of men. To be able to move in and out of any fortress without being detected. If you couldn't find him, then he's either in hiding, or he's been in New York ever since I arrived and has been biding his time. Either way, it's good to know that he hasn't lost his touch." He approached Tsang, stopping in front of the man and stared down at him. "Inform me when the other Weapons arrive in New York. Have them all brought to this hotel. The top two floors are ours to dwell in. Also, inform me when the office our colleagues here arranged for us to use is ready." He paused as if to think of what to say next and then looked back down at Tsang. "That will be all, Mr. Tsang."

Mr. Tsang bowed again and turned to leave when the Master's voice spoke again.

"Just one more thing, Mr. Tsang."

Tsang had just turned around to face Fu when a claw-like hand shot out to clutch his shoulder in a vice-like grip. "If you ever enter without knocking or call me by my true name ever again when we are here in this public building and not in the company of our men, I will inflict great pains upon you the likes of which have never been felt before. I do not tolerate sloppiness in my subordinates. Are we clear?"

Fu was clutching a nerve cluster in Tsang's neck, squeezing harder, his fingernails digging into his skin. Tsang knew from the even tone in Fu's voice that he was serious. He nodded rapidly to Fu Manchu. "Yes, Master Zu. Sorry, Master Zu. It will not happen again. I swear to you."

Fu smiled at Tsang's desire to live another day. It was amusing to him. "Thank you, Mr. Tsang. You may go." He released Tsang, who bowed to him in thanks for sparing his life and departed. As the door closed behind him, Fu allowed himself to smile again. Not only was another of the Immortal Weapons in the city, but Shang was more than likely already here as well.

As he sat down to eat his morning meal of hardboiled egg and toast, he noticed the morning paper next to his plate. He picked it up and opened it to the article that read "Iron Fist saves Pawnshop from Burglars". His eyes narrowed. The other obstacle in his path was also here. The Iron Fist. The destroyer of the Hand. A nuisance. A bug to be stepped upon. He'd deal with him soon enough. He'd make sure to handle the Iron Fist once and for all.


	3. Chapter 3: Shang in the City

Chapter 3

Shang in the City

Shang Chi loved New York. He'd lived here for 7 years and in that time he'd been spit on by a homeless man for offering him a sandwich instead of the dollar he'd wanted, been called a racial slur by a passing driver, and missed his bus to his old job several times. Those were good memories for him. It was part of the growing experience for him as a New Yorker. Just as living through the Incident had helped him understand that the universe was bigger than he'd first thought. There were aliens, giant green men, guys in flying suits of armor that probably cost more than his apartment, and now the heroes were apparently building talking robots if the rumors online were to be believed. He loved it all. Life was never boring in this city.

Shang was on his morning jog to the Corner Deli, taking in the sights, wearing his red jogging outfit, and greeting everyone he could, getting a friendly wave or a "screw off" in response to his joviality. Nothing could keep his spirits down today. He'd gotten his tax refund, his electronic repair business was doing well, and he'd just gone on date number two with his girlfriend Sasha. Things were looking up for him.

He entered, took a ticket, and waved to the owner. "Hey, Mr. Ferraiolo! How's it going? How're the kids?"

Ferraiolo, a heavyset bespectacled man, smiled at Shang and waved back. "Kids are fine, Shang. Finally back in school after the break. Swear to God, the schools are making these holidays longer on purpose just to pawn our kids back on us. That's what they're for!"

Shang laughed at the big man's joke and stood in front of the counter, observing the various meats behind the glass as he waited in line. When he finally got to the check out, he handed the ticket over and made his choices. "I'll take a pound of corned beef, ham, turkey, extra thin, and a pound of roast beef. Oh, and I'll take a Sammy sandwich to go. Extra onions please."

Ferraiolo nodded and got to work, slicing the meats and having his oldest daughter, Rhonda, prep the sandwich while his wife Freida handled the cash. Shang liked going to family businesses like this. Ferraiolo was a family man with three kids, the youngest two still in high school, while Rhonda helped out the business in between classes at State. Ferraiolo had insisted she go to college, having not gone himself. He had repeatedly told Shang his regrets, how this country never gave you much if you didn't have the right papers for the job and didn't want his daughter to go through what he'd went through.

Shang had reminded him that he was doing pretty well for himself for a second generation Italian American without a college education who owned his own business. Ferraiolo agreed, but pointed out that Rhonda and the kids didn't want the business and he respected that. "This world doesn't give you anything free. You need to work your ass off just to get your foot in the door and wave the papers around before they even give you a chance." Shang would just smile to himself and take the food and bid the Ferraiolos a good day. He did the same today and was about to leave when three men entered.

One was a heavyset bald guy in a leather jacket with shades and a goatee while his partner was a more refined fellow with slicked back hair that looked to be more gel than actual hair and wore a suit that had the top of the shirt open to reveal a gold medallion, obviously fake, Shang thought. The third was far shorter with hair that was fading away in a horseshoe pattern and a paunch belly. Shang had a feeling who they were, but didn't do anything. It wasn't his business who Mr. Ferraiolo associated with or who he did business with, but he wanted to step in as the men shoved their way through the line to the counter. Shorty spoke in hushed tones to Mr. Ferraiolo who looked extremely uncomfortable as he quickly handed them an envelope that was bulging with what Shang strongly suspected to be cash. Shorty then leaned forward and gave Mr. Ferraiolo three light slaps on the cheek while giving him a condescending grin.

Freida and Rhonda kept their heads low, but Shang could see the shame on Freida's face as the three men left. Shang balled his hands into fists and turned to the counter. The mood had definitely taken a nosedive and Shang wasn't going to stand by and not do a damn thing anymore. He went to the counter and glared at Mr. Ferraiolo. "Chris," he said in a flat tone, using his first name to let him know it was serious this time. "Was that the foot you used to prop the door open?" Ferraiolo didn't say anything at first until he turned to Freida and whispered in her ear. He motioned to Shang to follow him to the back room. The back room was Chris' office, large enough for two people to sit in with a couple chairs in front of a desk with a laptop on it. He motioned again for Shang to sit down and Shang complied, still not letting his glare go from Ferraiolo's face.

The two men sat in silence for a while before either one spoke. "So... you want to know what that was all about," Chris asked. Shang nodded. He wasn't angry at Chris specifically, nor did he think any less of him for who he associated with, but he had to know why his friend was giving money to gangsters, specifically ones he suspected worked for the Batali family.

Chris sighed and went on. "It all started after the Incident. My store was pretty damaged during the fight with those aliens and let's just say that the repairs were pretty costly."

"How much did it cost you to get the place fixed up," Shang asked, finally speaking.

"All my savings," Chris answered. "All of it. I put everything I had into this business, Shang. It's my life. My legacy to the people of this city. I had to take out a second mortgage on the place, but the bank wouldn't endorse the loan. I had to go to Batali. I needed the money to cover it. He said he'd pay it back and he did. And then the monthly installments started."

"How much does he take?"

"He takes 25% of the profits every month," Chris said. "Without fail. I don't pay, he makes me pay. I'm not the only one, Shang. A lot of the small business owners went to him after the Incident."

"But why would you choose Batali of all loan sharks," Shang asked, exasperated.

"Shang, you were there when the sky opened, right? You saw the damage to the city, right? I needed to get back on my feet! I needed to cover repairs, order costs, I needed to help pay for Rhonda's college education! I needed it! Now... Now it's not even my business anymore."

The big man's eyes were starting to brim with tears as he said those words. Desperation could drive a man to make terrible mistakes. It was only human. It was also human to extend a helping hand to his fellow man. Just as Chris had done for him.

When Shang had arrived in New York with not a lot in the way of funds, Chris and his family had taken him under their wing, giving him a leg up, a free meal every night, and a recommendation for his old office job until he found his feet. The Ferraiolos were good people, practically his family, and he owed them more than he could say. He couldn't stand by and let them suffer like this. He had to do something.

He leaned forward and put a hand on Chris' shoulder. "Where are they stationed?"

As Shang walked back to his shop, bag in in hand, he felt like someone was following him. He turned around to check and see if anyone was stalking him. Aside from the many morning commuters, he didn't see anyone actively following him and him alone. He shook his head and went back towards the shop, his senses still on alert. His past had taught him that if he had the feeling he was being followed, the chances were that he actually was being followed. Paranoid? Maybe. But he wasn't above taking chances, especially in light of the events that had transpired in New York these past few years.

As he reached the storefront of Shang's Electronics and Repairs, he took one last look around for the unseen stalker, even checking on the rooftops across the streets just in case. Chances were something that no one could ignore. As he unlocked the door, changed out of his jogging suit in his apartment above the store, turned the sign from closed to open, turned on the lights and booted up the register connected to the iPad where he calculated the repair fees, he kept his eyes and ears open. No sight nor sound, no matter how small or insignificant to the naked eye, was above his roaming gaze. Everything was mentally catalogued and stored away for examination later. Shang breathed in and out, put on a smile, and prepared for his first appointment of the day.

Shang had not had a good childhood. It had been one of pain, neglect, general unpleasantness. However, what hurt Shang the most when thinking about it was how he hadn't realized how bad it had been until he had grown up. His father had been emotionally distant from him, his only real parental relationship being his mother and even she wasn't open to talking about her feelings, being more of a dutiful wife and mother, fulfilling the role given to her, but no more than that. But this had been his life and as far as he knew, this was how everyone lived. Every child's father was an emotionally distant crime lord that pushed his child to grow up to be a living weapon that would kill upon command while their moms would sit back and observe. Such was life.

As the day went on, customers came and went, computers, Mac and PC, were repaired, and fees were paid. It was his life. It was monotonous, repetitive, and he loved it. It was his choice to live this life and he wasn't going to trade it for anything. As he closed up shop and retreated to the one bedroom one bath apartment above, Shang took one last glance outside to make sure he really was being paranoid. Nothing. Not a person out of place. Reassuring to some, but not for Shang. He couldn't shake the fear that perhaps his father had finally found him. That his old life had come back to him. That he was close to a confrontation with the most despicable human being he'd ever known.

He shook his head free of the fear. He wasn't going to let it control him. This was his life and he was going to live it. Nothing was going to change that. It felt like nothing could bring him down now as he lay back in bed and turned on the white noise generator to lull him to sleep.

Enrico Batali's loanshark business was booming. With backing from Mr. Fisk, he'd been able to make a hefty profit while giving Fisk his cut. The Incident had been one of the best things to ever happen to guys like him. People needed money to rebuild and when the bank wouldn't cover it, they went to him. And he was more than happy to accept their business. Fisk had come to him, offering to sponsor him, giving his business a boost, allowing him to hire more muscle for shakedowns. Fisk had managed to continue helping even after he'd been sent to prison. Life was good and he was living the dream of a "legitimate businessman".

Sammy, Moose, and Rocko were coming back with the day's profits when there was a knock at the door. Moose, Enrico's biggest hitter, moved to the door and slid back the slot to check who was outside. "May I help you," The big man asked.

The door burst open as four men entered, guns pointed at all occupants. Enrico grabbed his Colt .45 and pointed it at one of the intruders and started sizing them up. The men were Chinese-American and had the look of the Blue Lotus Triads from Chinatown. "What the Hell are you people doing in my business?! This is my territory, not yours! Get out!"

"They are here under my instruction, Mr. Batali," a flat voice said from outside. In walked a tall Chinese man with a bald head, a sky blue suit with gold lace trimming, and a mustache and goatee. His accent was heavy though his english didn't miss a beat. What threw Batali off though was that the man looked old. Old enough to be Batali's grandfather, yet there was nothing in his stride and the way he carried himself that showed his age. This man was strong and proud. And he scared him.

"Who... Who are you?"

"My name is Fu Manchu, Mr. Batali. I am here to tell you that I am taking over your business."

"Excuse me? I answer to Wilson Fisk! Do you know who that is? He will bury you, Old Man!"

Fu Manchu's mouth turned into a thin smile. "I can assure you that I have talked with Mr. Fisk and I have acquired several of his small businesses, including this one. I think I will be able to put it to better use than it is now. It might actually be able to make a profit."

Batali's face went red as the insult to his place left the old man's lips. "How... DARE you, you old Ch-AAAAAAAGH!" The slur had barely left his mouth when an intense pain erupted from his chest. He looked down to see the point of a sword blade sticking out of his chest, blood seeping from the wound. As the scream left his lips, he turned his head to see a man in armor and a stony expression on his face. Fu Manchu walked through the room as the Triads opened fire on the goons and looked into Batali's eyes.

"This is Dog Brother #1. He will be your murderer for the day. I am taking over now. You and your men are no longer needed so consider this your retirement. I own the office already. I own the business. I own your life. Thus it is yours to do with as I wish. If it hadn't been for that slur, you may have lived to see another day. I don't like language like that in my organization. You are done here. Goodbye and may you be more understanding of etiquette in your next life." As the life left Batali's eyes, Fu turned and departed, leaving the Triads and Dog Brother to clean up the mess. As he left the office, his cell phone rang in his pocket. Checking it to see that Mr. Tsang was calling, he answered.

"What is it, Mr. Tsang?"

The nervous voice of the toady spoke out. "Master, I apologize for what I'm about to tell you. My sources in China were wrong. Your son... Your son is here. In New York. He has been here for seven years and is running a business in Manhattan." Fu stopped as he heard the words he hadn't expected to hear. His son was here in New York. Shang Chi was in New York after all. First things first however.

"Mr. Tsang, I thank you for your news. However, I must ask that you have your informants that were looking for my son put to death. They failed the most important job that could be trusted to them and I cannot have incompetence in my organization."

"But... But, Master-"

"No excuses, Mr. Tsang. Just do it." With the last word, he hung up. He smiled a cold smile to himself. Today had been quite successful after all.


End file.
